


Atomic

by fortyfive_rpm (2davidbeckham3)



Series: just another x-pensive night [1]
Category: The Rolling Stones
Genre: 1980s, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28064346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/fortyfive_rpm
Summary: Mick visits Keith after an X-Pensive Winos concert
Relationships: Mick Jagger/Keith Richards
Series: just another x-pensive night [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141376
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Atomic

**Author's Note:**

> A What If fic - What if Mick went to one of Keith's concerts?
> 
> Set on Nov. 29, 1988 - Keith performed at The Beacon Theater in NYC then. His next concert was in Philly on Dec. 1. 
> 
> Very much inspired by the whole enemies to lovers dynamic.

Keith’s still blinking the stage lights from his eyes. Through the fading afterimages seared into his retinas, it’s easy to make out that there’s not a lot of shuffling around him. Stage hands and other curious stragglers are rubbernecking, staring at the impending supernova in their wake, the next Big Bang.

He’s used to the drop, the cold bath of a reality at the end of a high. He's not used to crashing into _terra firma_ after a show, but a familiar figure in the wings does just that. "You should've dropped me a line, I would've changed the linens if I knew you were comin'." 

Mick stays silent. The bags under his eyes betray long, consecutive sleepless nights, though, maybe, he's just gotten older. It's hard to tell. Keith hasn't seen Mick without television grain powdering his face in years. 

Keith turns away from the defiant tilt of Mick’s chin to his sound tech. The coarse fabric of his guitar strap scrapes against his neck as he hands off his guitar.

He feels a bit defenseless without the physical barrier, exposed, open to attack. It’s always the same. 

A sigh escapes Keith’s mouth before he can stop it. "C'mon." He shoulders past Mick with the vague order. Whatever Mick came here to do doesn’t deserve an audience. He stops in front of his dressing room to tear the nametag taped to the door as an extra precaution. No one needs to walk in on them, either. 

Keith makes a beeline for the minifridge hidden in the corner of the room. He's gonna need something to get through this, caught flat footed by Mick’s unexpected coup de main. Last he heard, Mick was prancing around the Japanese archipelago.

"Lock the door, will y'?" This time, his question sounds more like a request, but it’s as much of an order as his last. 

Mick complies without complaint. He leans against the wall next to the door frame before speaking. "You looked confident out there." 

Of course, the first words Mick speaks to him after years of radio silence would be a backhanded compliment. 

"Why wouldn't I be? It ain't my firs' time out there." Keith concludes his statement by popping open his can of Coca-Cola. He’s forgotten how difficult it is to have a conversation with Mick. He turns his attention to the plastic cups stacked on top of the fridge and pulls one out; he needs a stronger drink. Keith might be a lead singer now, but some confidence comes in liquid form. 

Keith slowly pours out half of the can before looking back up at the reserved Mick Jagger leaning up against his dressing room wall. 

The corner of Mick’s lip is pulled up in a slight sneer as he looks around the room with derision. The look of contempt grows when he spots the bottles of liquor lining the vanity. It’s a shrewd reminder of why The Glimmer Twins haven’t shared a dressing room in years. It’s easy to hide under the guise of their fame, of sold out stadium shows, and the inherent need for their own spaces. In actuality it’s this, condescending looks and acerbic remarks. Their fraying, decaying relationship. 

Suddenly, Keith’s not thirsty anymore. He places his drink down on the fridge, distraction for his fidgeting hands, and own annoyance, forgotten. There’s a niggling ache in the back of his head and he wishes he had something stronger than the alcohol in his room. Keith closes a bit of space between him and Mick. “Is this it?” It’s hard to speak around the lump of emotion that’s taken residence in his throat. “Did you just come here to insult me?” Anger heats the back of his neck.

Mick, who’s been watching him warily ever since he started to move, gets a crease between his eyebrows, the first bit of emotion Keith’s noticed all night. 

"I didn't-" Mick grunts, before running his hand through his hair, dark, L'Oreal brown. "I didn't come here to waste my time." 

Mick’s expression is unreadable, although Keith got out of the practice of deciphering Mick Jagger’s many facets long ago. Even when he did, there were some sides he never got acquainted with; when the accusations and cryptic comments came out, Keith tuned out. 

After a few beats, Mick’s gaze hardens. He pulled his shoulders up, turning to leave without saying so much as a good-bye. 

In a few long strides, Keith’s at the door to clamp his hand down over Mick’s, stopping him from turning the door knob. It’s more a show of force than anything since Mick was having troubles with it due to his sticky fingers. Mick’s hand is warm beneath his.

 _“Wh-”_ Mick’s protests are quickly silenced by the growing commotion he’d been oblivious to. Even through the closed door, it’s easy to make out the hysterical cries of. _“I saw him! Let me see him! I want to see Mick Jagger!"_

Mick’s one-track mind never failed to get him in trouble, though some fires were easier to put out. Solo album deals were another story. Still, Keith’s glad to be in a locked room with Mick. Keith's loath to explain Jagger-Richards are having an impromptu reunion in the wings of a poorly ventilated theater with a mine-field of a stage where he had to dance around all the knots in the planks of hardwood, fearing injury. 

Rushing footsteps pass by the room before Mick speaks again. “I just-” he begins, voice strained. “I wanted to-” He forces painful admission in short, reluctant gusts. “I wanted to catch up." 

Keith looks away from the chipped paint of the door to Mick. They're closer than he first realized, he can feel himself going a bit cross-eyed trying to focus on Mick's full expression; he has gall to look annoyed, like he’s the one that’s been inconvenienced, had his night off monopolized by some pest. 

Their hands are still clamped together on the small glass doorknob; Keith's reluctant to move in case Mick tries to bolt again. 

The heat prickling down his neck intensifies. "I'm fine," Keith retorts, genial humor dissipating. All it took was a failed album for him to reach out. He finds himself talking to Mick's uncharacteristically chapped lips. It's strange seeing them this close, they haven't shared a mic eons. 

"Happy to hear that." Mick sounds anything but before he crushes their lips together.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was gonna make this go more... M rated... but I'm really out of practice so I decided to stop here. Yes, I know I'm circling the drain and just endlessly talking about The Breakup, but I might do the M Rated chapter 2, who knows! I'm just very happy to have finally cranked something out over 1000 words long.
> 
> Could be seen as in the same universe as _Criss, Cross Mind_ and _If I Could Turn Back Time._
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
